


The Process

by DecidedlyUndecidedly



Category: Hatari (Band)
Genre: BDSM, Blindfolds, Bondage, Choking, Collars, Domination, Drugged Sex, F/M, Face-Fucking, Gags, Klámstrákur music video, M/M, Masturbation, Mental Coercion, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Oral Sex, Sexual Coercion, Sexual Violence, Slut Shaming, Submission, Whorephobia, dubcon, m/m - Freeform, physical violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2021-01-20 17:37:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21285572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DecidedlyUndecidedly/pseuds/DecidedlyUndecidedly
Summary: An award-winning* trilogy based on the video for Klámstrákur, exploring sex, power, shame and deception.The characters involved are the characters the members of Hatari play in the music video, rather than Hatari themselves: this takes place in the fictional world they created for Klámstrákur and builds on the story told through those lyrics and visuals. More tags to be added with each chapter.*winner of the Hatari Dungeon 2019 Award for Favourite Original Fic thankyouverymuch
Relationships: Klemens Nikulásson Hannigan/Einar Hrafn Stefánsson, Klemens Nikulásson Hannigan/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 38





	1. Filth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This won't make sense if you haven't seen the video, so go and watch that first in the unlikely event you're reading a Hatari fic and you haven't watched Klámstrákur yet.

It was hard to remember, sometimes, that he chose this. K had tried to remind himself of that while he’d been getting ready, staring at himself in the bathroom mirror, and while he was dancing on stage, shamelessly displaying himself for a man he’d never met before, a man wearing a mask, unwilling to even show his face. He chose this. But it felt like a long time since he’d been able to make a choice, since he’d been allowed to. In theory, he could stop all this at any time, and he told himself that the fact he hadn’t was proof he did want this, that he was doing it of his own free will. Then in the early hours of the morning, towards the end of another sleepless night, that voice would creep into his mind, telling him he only kept going because he was too scared to try and stop - scared he’d be denied, and the whole ugly truth of the matter made plain.

But at least he was good at this. The masked man had sat there, seemingly unmoved, impatient even, until he snapped and literally climbed over the rows of seats ahead of him to get to K, burning with desire. K couldn’t help but feel proud of that, as he moved over to the chair on the other side of the stage and laid himself out, head tipped back, waiting. The ferocity of the man’s reaction worried him, though. That kind of lust could easily turn to anger, anger that would turn K from prey to perpetrator. He was always guilty of something… Snapped out of these thoughts by the man stroking his bare chest, assessing just how precious an object K really was. K stayed still, as he was supposed to. The man took the long leash attached to his collar - never without a collar, decorating him, showing everyone what he is - and used it to spin the chair around, an echo of the dance earlier, K spinning around the pole, except this time he had no control over it. That was the point, presumably. Until suddenly the man slammed his foot down on the pedal that locked the chair into position and yanked on the leash, first jerking K up and then throwing him onto the floor. He lay there face down, still not daring to move until he was told, and heard the man take his place on the chair. He knew what was next.

He felt a tug on the leash and turned to see the man sitting up with his legs either side of the footrest, locking eyes with K as he pulled his hard cock from his trousers. K crawled towards him, his own arousal building at the sight, though he hated himself for it. He knelt at the man’s feet and ran his hands up his calves, encased in shining platform boots, and the inside of his thighs. Creating anticipation, of course, fulfilling his purpose of making this as pleasurable as possible, but a moment he stole for himself too, in which he almost believed this could be tender. He grasped the base of the man’s cock and licked slowly up the shaft, swirling his tongue around the head, and was rewarded with a small moan, a slight easing of tension. K took that as a cue to take the man’s cock wholly into his mouth, sucking and drooling, looking up prettily from under his lashes when he could, until his lips met his fist. He felt a hand in his hair, fingers raking his scalp roughly but not harshly, as you might pet a dog. But as K lifted his head up for air, the grip tightened, holding him down as he choked. Instinctively, he tried to push away with his free hand on the man’s thigh - a mistake. 

Kicked back by one of those heavy boots to his chest, the man was behind him before K could catch his breath, forcing him into a kneeling position again and then pulling his hands behind his back, tying them in place with the leash. Tears gathered in K’s eyes - he’d fucked this up, the one thing he was good for and he’d fucked it up. He didn’t resist as the man pulled him back into place and sat down again - he opened his mouth obediently, trying to salvage something. Both gloved hands were in his hair now, pulling painfully as the man forced K down onto his cock. No skill or finesse needed here as he fucked his mouth, thrusting into his throat, choking him, pulling him back up now and then to allow him to take a few gasping breaths, and then continuing with the full force of the brutality K had sensed in him from the start. K was just a hole to be fucked, and this thought struck him at the same time as the overwhelming reality that he loved it, he was addicted to being used like this, and though he knew it was wrong for all these people to take advantage of his desperate need to please, he could no longer imagine another life.

K tried to swallow when the man came, though as he was shoved back once again, finished with, some of it spilled from his mouth, mixing with his own sweat and the tears running down his face. The masked figure put his cock away, stood up and took one last, contemptuous look at him. Then he left, without bothering to untie K’s hands. K shuffled back to the chair, too weak to stand, and leaned against it. Someone would be along eventually to clean him up and take him away again. All he could do was wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For me, K stands for Klámstrákur, but the ambiguity that it could stand for Klemens is deliberate. I was also thinking of Josef K in The Trial by Kafka (which inspired the title as well: in the original German, 'The Trial' is 'Der Prozess'), as someone else shoved around and taken advantage of by a nightmarish system with opaque rules. Many thanks to the denizens of the Hatari dungeon Discord server for feedback and encouragement.


	2. Smut

They said the treatment was working, but K wasn’t sure that was true. It was supposed to cleanse him of the disease in his soul that had brought him here and made him give himself over to these people, but the urges only seemed to get stronger after every session, pushing him down deeper. Maybe he had misunderstood when they said they would purify him. Or maybe this was just the process, breaking him down in order to build him back up. They seemed to be sure of what they were doing, and he had little choice but to trust them.

It was always the same three, that was a comfort at least. Familiarity. The doctor and two… nurses seemed like the wrong term, they were something more and less than that. Assistants. As they wheeled him back to the room where he would spend the night, he wondered again whether they were sisters, or if it just seemed that way because they were roughly the same height and build, with black hair scraped back. He couldn't see their faces, they always wore surgical masks and muttered with the doctor in a language he didn’t understand. 

The side-effects of the treatment were unpredictable for hours afterwards, so he was strapped down. For his own safety, the doctor said. When they reached the room, the two women worked quickly, holding him down as they undid the cuffs tethering him to the trolley, transferring him to the bed and restraining him at his wrists and ankles and around his torso. The top half of his body was slightly raised. It had taken a while to get used to sleeping like this, but he had learned from his time here that you can get used to anything. They normally gave him a sedative in any case, which he was grateful for. Some weeks, this was the only time he slept. Once he was secured, the shorter one left, saying something to the other, who nodded in acknowledgement as she prepared a syringe for his sedative. He watched her push up his sleeve and plunge in the needle, sighing as it sank into the vein. It worked quickly, taking effect while she disposed of the needle in the sharps bin and started flipping through some notes on a clipboard. It was different this time, though, he felt more disoriented than sleepy. They must have adjusted the dosage.

He was suddenly aware that she was standing by the side of the bed, staring at him. He didn’t know how long she’d been there. She raised her hand and gently brushed his lips with her fingers. It was strange: the clinical smell and feel of her latex gloves seemed perverse in this intimate gesture. He parted his lips just a little, and she pushed her first two fingers past his teeth. He kept his eyes on hers as he licked and sucked, searching for a sign that she was pleased with him: though the edges of his consciousness were shimmering with the drug, he still wanted to be good for her. But she kept the mask on, and her eyes gave nothing away. She pulled her fingers from him and neatly tucked them beneath the waistband of her shorts, first rubbing her clit and then thrusting them inside herself. K wished he could sit up and see more, but he sensed that if he asked her to undo the restraints, this would stop. Besides, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stay upright. She took her fingers out again, now glistening, and held them up to him, almost out of reach this time, making him strain to get to her. The taste of her body was intoxicating, obscenely real under the fluorescent lights, and he moaned around her fingers. But it was as if she was watching him from behind glass, as if this wasn’t something they were doing together. He hadn’t asked for this, this was all her. Wasn’t it?

Abruptly she took her hand away, then pulled down his pants. He was hard already, of course, he had no self-control, it didn’t take much. She seemed to be scrutinising his dick, making an assessment, and the shame rising in his throat at this examination was almost too much, even as it sharpened his arousal. Unable to hide, he opened his legs further, hoping she found him acceptable. His heart lurched as she turned away - everything was so heightened suddenly, he was even more sensitive than usual, why was that - but she wasn’t leaving, she was fishing around in a cupboard and then squirting something into her hand - lubricant, obviously, he understood when she returned and grasped his cock, stroking him evenly, and she was watching his face again, storing up his reaction for - what? Her own satisfaction or - it was impossible to think about as he arched his back, the straps digging into his waist. This didn’t happen, no one touched him first or gave him anything, usually. But it was happening now.

Again her hand was gone, and he whined, unable to swallow his desperation. If only she’d say what she was doing, if she’d say anything. Because now she was taking off her shoes, her shorts, which she folded neatly and placed on a chair, her underwear, she was climbing onto the bed and straddling him. Pulled up short by the cuffs on his wrist, he wanted to touch her, he needed to, or -

“Let me see your face,” he pleaded “At least let me see your face.”

She slapped him, a solid crack that reverberated through his jaw. A warning. He understood. 

Satisfied, she lowered herself onto his dick and oh, it felt so good to be inside her. The strange sensations blossoming in his head, the way every edge seemed sharper, the buzz of electricity building to a roar, it all became part of this one feeling as she rolled her hips, shifting her weight and finding a spot, a rhythm that was so even and measured, still so controlled while he whimpered and panted, pathetically grateful that she hadn’t left him, that he’d passed whatever test she had run on him. Only a slight curl of her fingers, splayed against his chest, said that something was happening inside her just before he felt her pulse around him, sending him over the edge too. For a few blissful moments, all the noise and colour filling his head dissipated, and it was just the two of them, bare to each other. 

It didn’t last long. She eased herself off the bed and got dressed again. An overwhelming sadness hit him as he realised she really was leaving this time. She would leave him alone and helpless in the dark, having stripped him of his usual peace of mind when approaching that state. He wanted to ask if he could touch her, if _he_ could touch _her_, but he didn’t want to risk the consequences of making another request. She came back over and pulled his pants up, and he was a patient again, someone to be moved and cleaned and dealt with. A stab of panic jolted him: what if this had been a test and he’d failed it? Why had he let her do that, should he have turned her down, turned her away? But how could he?

“Just tell me -” he started “Please I need to... I need to know -”

She placed her hand over his mouth. That was it.

He shut his eyes before she turned out the main lights, and he didn’t know if he was trying to hold onto or block out what had happened. When he opened them again for a second, he was sure he saw her look straight up at the security camera in the corner and nod. Then his mind was gone again, not sleep, but some new kind of half-consciousness he couldn’t control, and she had left. He shivered through the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I know she's actually wearing a bodysuit in the video but 'She took some time shimmying out of her lycra bodysuit, getting her arm stuck at one point' doesn't quite convey the same mood. Anyway, poor K just can't catch a break. And the worst is yet to come.


	3. Spoiled

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You could interpret some of what goes on here as implied Klemens/Matthías - that's not how I see it, but thought it best to give a heads up.

K didn’t acknowledge the first knock on the door of his room. He knew whoever it was would just come in anyway. He was lying on the bed, curled up on his side. Not in the clinic, he could have got up and done something today, but what was the point? It was comforting to lie there as his pyjamas and the bedclothes began to smell sour: it made him feel like he possessed something. Another knock, more insistent this time. Might as well keep up the pretence.

“Come in,” he called out. He heard the door open and shut, but kept his back to whoever had entered.

“There is an assignment for you.” It was one of the doctor’s assistants, not the one who… the other one.

“Right,” said K, picking at the dry skin on his lips.

“You have seen him before actually, the time we found you… well, you know, it was less than ideal.” K froze. No. She was talking about the man in the mask. “This will be a chance for you to put things right. Both of you, I mean.”

“I can’t,” said K, barely whispering.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” 

K sat up and faced her “I can’t. I can’t do that.”

“You’ll be fine,” she said, “We wouldn’t give you the assignment if you couldn’t do it.”

“No, I mean - I’m not going to do it, I’m refusing.”

As ever, the surgical mask hid her reactions, though he thought he saw her narrow her eyes for a split second. “OK. Can you tell me why you feel you want to do that?”

“Because - isn’t it obvious, because - look, I’ll do anything else, any other assignment I just can’t - can’t see him again.” The memory of that night made him burn with shame, and he felt like he was about to cry, as per usual. He managed to swallow it down. “Anyway, why are you giving me these things to do, why encourage me if you’re supposed to be trying to cure me?”

“You know why. Don’t you think we deserve something in exchange for your treatment? Everything we have given you? And this is what you’re most suited to.”

“Yeah, well maybe I’m not so suited to it anymore,” K said, flopping back down onto the bed, “Maybe the treatment’s working, because I don’t want this assignment. I won’t do it.”

To his surprise, she didn’t try to push the point further. She stood there for a while, waiting, perhaps, for him to change his mind, and then left. K kept staring at the wall. After some time, who knew how long, another knock at the door. Again, he didn’t respond, thinking she would come straight in. But she didn’t. She knocked again.

“I’ll leave if you want, but I’d be grateful if you would come with me. The doctor would like to see you. Just to talk.”

K doubted very much it would be “just to talk”. But the sooner he could get this over with, the sooner he could go back to bed. 

“Thank you,” said the assistant, as he opened the door, “Follow me.”

***

The lighting was low in the room K was ushered into, and it occurred to him that he didn’t know what time of day it was. Or night. The assistant who had brought him here left, so it was just K and the doctor. He was sitting on a sofa and K thought he seemed different, less controlled, sprawled out with his arm slung over the back of the couch. K wasn’t used to seeing him outside the clinic, off-duty, that’s probably all it was. He wore a red coat instead of his white one, red tinted glasses and high leather boots. He gestured for K to sit in an armchair opposite. K stayed standing.

“I’m told you won’t be taking on this assignment, is that correct?”

“Yes. I don’t want to do it,” K said. “That’s good, right? I thought I was supposed to be developing… discernment.”

“Of course. But before we celebrate a breakthrough, I think we need to consider why you are refusing this particular assignment.” 

A metallic taste rose up in K’s mouth and his heart started pounding. “I - when I did this before with - with him, it wasn’t - it didn’t go well. As you know. So I just don’t - I don’t want that to happen again.”

“Why would it happen again? Haven’t you learned from your mistakes? Do you think he won’t take your limitations into account?”

“It’s not about that.”

“You just said it was about that, I’m only going from what you’ve told me.”

“I - I mean I -” K’s head was swimming. He’d been so sure just minutes ago and now it all seemed petty. Was he overreacting? It wouldn’t be the first time.

“What if everything had been fine, in your previous experience, what if it hadn’t gone badly, would you still refuse the assignment now?”

“No, but it did go badly, that’s the point, that’s why I -” 

The doctor leaned forward. “So you don’t object to him, you just don’t want to be reminded of your mistake?”

K felt weak. He sat down in the armchair and took his head in his hands, trying to breathe deeply. That was the reason. He knew that in his heart. This wasn’t how any normal person would feel about the situation, any normal person wouldn’t do this at all. He wasn’t ashamed of being a whore, he was ashamed that he wasn’t enough of a whore - and after all this time, that was still the only thing he wanted to be. He started to cry.

“You haven’t yet answered my question,” said the doctor, “Why don’t you want to do this assignment?”

“Because I don’t want to be reminded of my mistake from last time,” K answered.

“What was your mistake?” 

“I wasn’t good enough.”

“Good enough at what?”

“At being fucked!” K wailed “At being a dirty slut who’ll let anyone do anything they want to me.” 

“And that’s what you want?” The doctor peered at K over the top of his glasses.

“That’s what I am.” K slumped back. “That’s all I’ll ever be.”

The doctor stood and walked over to where K was sitting, placing himself behind the chair. He put a hand to K’s forehead, gently pressing him into the headrest. “I’m afraid we have thought for some time that you are a hopeless case. This proves it.” K felt sick. What was going to happen to him now?

“I’m sorry,” K whispered “I’m so sorry. I should leave.” They couldn’t do anything for him. No one could.

“On the contrary,” the doctor said, taking his other hand to K’s cheek, “That would only make things worse. It wouldn’t be right for us to abandon you now, when you’re most in need.”

“So there is hope? You can cure me?”

“No. You’ve said yourself, this is what you are. But there are always two ways of approaching addiction. One is to get the patient to stop using, to get clean. That’s what we have tried with you, through aversion therapy, and it hasn’t worked. The other approach is to manage the addiction. To provide the substance in a controlled environment, in order to minimise harm. That is what we need to do now, before your condition worsens, as it inevitably would away from here.”

It all made sense. How could he possibly go back to the outside world, to the way things were? Before he came here, everything had been chaos, he wasn’t capable of taking care of himself, making sensible decisions. Here, he didn’t have to make any decisions. He just had to do what he was told. The doctor leaned down, his head almost touching K’s.

“So, will you take the assignment?”

“Yes.”

***

K sat naked on the bed, a different bed, in a room full of toys and implements of pleasure or pain that he didn’t get to choose from. The other assistant was here, the one who had fucked him, preparing him. She had taken away his clothes, and now she was fitting a collar around his throat, not like any of the ones he had worn before: it was heavier and wider, stiff black leather that dug into his neck. He heard a click after she pulled the buckle through, felt a little extra weight, and when he touched the back of the collar, he found that she had added a padlock. He didn’t have to ask to know that this wasn’t just for tonight. The assistant caught his hand and guided it back round to his chest, so she was embracing him from behind. She rested her head on his shoulder. 

“I can make this easier for you,” she said, “I can give you a shot of something or some pills.”

She had barely spoken to him since their encounter, barely looked at him. And now she was talking to him softly, offering to help. He shook his head.

“No. I want to feel this.”

“I understand,” she stood up, though she let her hand linger over his, “If you ever want to, you can always ask me.” K nodded.

“Thank you.”

She withdrew to fetch something from a cabinet: a blindfold and a black ball gag. 

“Open up,” she said, and he opened his mouth for her, just like before. She fastened the gag, then the blindfold. He expected to be restrained further, but she just told him to lie down, “You won’t have long to wait,” and left. He lay on his side, the same position he’d been in earlier - technically, he’d been freer then, but it didn’t feel any different. There was nothing physically stopping him from taking off the gag and blindfold; there had never been anything to stop him from leaving. But he was still here. 

His jaw was already aching by the time the client entered the room, though K welcomed the pain: it kept him grounded in his body while his lack of vision threatened to leave him floating. How would he even know it was the same person - after all of this? But as the bed sagged with the man’s weight, K could smell him and knew his scent. Any remaining doubt dissipated as he lay down behind K and snaked a hand round to grab his jaw: though the position was different, the feel of his grip as he held K in place was unmistakable. K moaned in surprise, fear, pain, lust - they were all the same now. 

He braced himself, expecting punishment for their last encounter, but instead the man kissed his shoulder gently. He wasn’t wearing a mask this time, no need as K couldn’t see him - why didn’t he want to be seen? - and he let go of K’s jaw, letting his hand trail down to ghost over his collarbone. K let himself melt into the touch, despite his fear that this prelude was only meant to sharpen the coming pain: he could only take what he was given. As the man dotted kisses over his shoulders and back, K hesitantly reached out, wanting to touch him in return, but he felt that iron grip around his wrist and his arm was slammed back down. K tensed again: surely now was the moment that anger would be unleashed. Instead, the man kept lavishing K with kisses and slowly stroking his chest. It wasn’t clear if this devotion was an apology, or just another fantasy K was being used for. Either way, all he could do was lie still.

The man squeezed K's shoulder, and then reached over him to the bedside table. K shifted his head on the pillow and felt how wet it was where he’d been drooling around the gag, then gasped as he felt rough fingers pressing inside him, slick with lube. He was so tense, it burned, but the movement was slow, careful. The man’s other hand rested on the point where K’s shoulder met his neck, running his thumb over the bottom of the collar. As K relaxed and opened up, he increased the pace but he wasn't trying to push K like he had before. K remembered what the doctor had said about his "limitations" and felt caught between his wounded pride and enjoyment of what was happening now. But the client had come back, at least, he still wanted K. If things had been different, would he have wanted him more, or less?

One final push deep inside him, and then the fingers were replaced by the man's cock, stretching K to a point of exquisite pleasure. There was a hand on his hip now, still-wet fingers digging into the skin, and heavy breathing by his ear, so close. K longed to turn his head, to take off the blindfold and see this person's face, the effect he was having on him. He knew he couldn't, a second offence would be treated more harshly than the first, but it was nice to imagine. Nice to think that one day he could even ask. But for now he stayed still, only shifting his hips to allow for deeper penetration, opening himself up completely. For this, he was rewarded, as the man took his hand from K's hip and wrapped it around his cock, and K didn’t know himself whether the sound he was making was a moan or a sob: it was just an expression of pure need as saliva ran down his chin and his neck, as he disappeared further into darkness and came to exist only as a set of sensations, in his ass, his cock, his jaw, giving endlessly and taking pleasure in his own complete abjection.

A guttural sigh by his ear and the man came inside K; K followed soon after, secure in the knowledge that he had done his job, and this was the last thing expected of him. They lay together for a while, though it made K claustrophobic, this parody of intimacy as he was still collared, blindfolded and gagged, afraid to move while this client breathed in the scent of his hair. Eventually he got up; K stayed where he was, straining to hear the muttered conversation in the doorway. The assistant again, K heard her come in and stand in front of him.

“Good boy.” K hated the way his heart fluttered when she said that. Was he really so pathetic? “Sit up now.” He did as she said, still shaking, weak, and she removed the gag, slipped off the blindfold. He blinked in the light, looking up at her. She sat next to him and took his hand. “You did so well, we all knew you could do it,” she pulled down her mask, and finally he saw her face. She smiled. “I do like you, you know. I’m so glad you’re staying with us and we can take care of you properly.” And as he looked into her eyes, seeing all of her for the first time, he knew this was fake. That it was all fake. They had never been trying to cure him, they didn’t care about him, this had been a trap from the start. Even though he could see it all now for what it was, he couldn’t go back. They had won. If he was stupid enough to fall for something so crude, so obvious, didn’t he deserve everything he got? This was it. Now the best he had to look forward to was being petted and cooed over when these people felt like it, and abused when they didn’t. 

“Thank you,” he said.

***

She cleaned him up and gave him a leather thong to wear, another sign that his body belonged to everyone except him, then brought him back to the doctor. As soon as K entered the room, he sank to his knees. 

“Well,” said the doctor, “How are you feeling now?”

“I know,” K said, “You don’t have to pretend.” 

“What do you mean?” said the doctor, after a pause.

“I know that you weren’t trying to cure me, that this was all just meant to get me to do what you want. To be your whore.” The doctor let this hang in the air for a while.

“So what are you going to do?” he asked.

“Nothing,” said K, “I’m still your slave. Just - none of us need to pretend now. It’s all clear.” 

The doctor strode over to K and grabbed his hair, yanking his head back. “That’s right. It is all clear. How disgusting you are, how completely rotten and atrocious, that even now you won’t stand up for yourself, because you know you need to be controlled by someone stronger and better than you. Go on, say it, say what you are” he was screaming in K’s face now, spraying him with spit.

“I’m disgusting,” said K, “I’m filthy and rotten and fucked up and I can’t help myself.”

“You make me sick, you know that, you make me sick to my stomach, you make my skin crawl,” the doctor tightened his grip, almost ripping K’s hair from his scalp, “Your only redeeming feature is that you know your place, and it is under my foot.” With that he pushed K away, and returned to the sofa. “Now, show me that you know that. Just as you said, no more lies.” He raised one foot. “Lick the bottom of my boot.”

K crawled over to the doctor and licked the dirt from his shoe. He felt no shame as he did so. Perhaps in that sense, he had been cured. Then the doctor pressed his foot down on K’s neck, pushing his face into the floor.

“I have more friends coming later. Maybe the girls can play with you until then. Maybe I’ll hang you from the ceiling and whip you. And you will be grateful that we allow you to serve our desires.”

In that moment, with the boot on his neck, K finally felt alive.


End file.
